


Let Me Put A Flower There

by Heyerette



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bilbo Takes Action, Courting Business, Dwalin Almost Breaks, Established Relationship, Flower Business, Fluff, M/M, Nori Flirts, One Shot, Post-Quest, Prompt Fic, Romance, Thorin Takes To Flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1218295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heyerette/pseuds/Heyerette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hobbits like flowers.</p>
<p>Dwarves like hobbits.</p>
<p>Dwalin is about to have a fit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Put A Flower There

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shinysparks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinysparks/gifts), [Thymelady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thymelady/gifts).



> For my lovely, horrible enablers that are shinysparks and thymelady. Good thing I love you.
> 
> Prompt fic is full of flowers. Lots of flowers. And more flowers.
> 
> Those poor dwarves.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

The king froze.

What in _Mahal´s_ \- 

“Dwalin.”

~ ~ ~ ~

There was a sneeze.

A sneeze of such a volume as the mountain had probably never heard before. Of an intensity that made a mountain shake. Even Smaug the Terrible would have cowered at the sound, would have buried himself among his treasure hoard only to peek out from underneath the accumulation of trinkets and gems again once a well-meaning well-wisher should have whispered to him the uplifting secret of it having originated in an attempt at making his mountain more habitable rather than an attack on his generally quite phlegmatic dragon-ess.

Or that is what Nori told him.

Creeping up behind the bald-headed dwarf and almost making him jump out of his boots upon finding Erebor´s spy master practically nibbling on his ear.

The good one.

Dwalin immediately turned to seize the bane of his existence by the front of his tunic; his nostrils flaring when the smirking dwarf easily danced out of reach.

And winked.

At him.

Winked!

He was going to - 

“ _Thief!_ I will –“

Whatever it had been that the Captain of the King´s Guard had been in the – very detailed, explicit, foreboding – process to acquaint the other dwarf with was rather promptly shelved. On the mental shelf of Things Dwalin Was Going To Do To That Spawn Of An Elf Lover Once Erebor Should Be Flourishing Enough For Him To Allow Himself The Momentary Distraction. (And his King finally made an honest hobbit of the hobbit. There was only so much mooning over the burglar the tattooed warrior was prepared to take. Friend or not.) The space on which was getting a little cramped. It had rapidly acquired items during the Quest, after all.

Strangely, and at Dwalin´s vehement, flustered denial whenever he thought about it, that list also included running a brush through the slippery dwarf´s silky red mane. Or his fingers. He wasn´t that particular.

That _thief_ \- 

Had just put a flower in his beard.

His.

Beard.

His.

Dwalin´s beard.

And was now blowing him a kiss from the door.

Cheekily.

That –

That – 

“ _Nori!_ ”, the warrior roared, fully bent on taking up immediate pursuit. A flower! Mahal´s hammer, he was not going to tolerate any botany! Not near his beard. Or on it. Anywhere. Not even for his – 

King.

Who had reached out a fur-coated arm to effectively block the enraged warrior´s departure. 

“Save your flirting for later.”

If at all possible, Dwalin´s ruddy cheeks reddened even further.

“I´m _not_ –“ Thick, muscled arms were suddenly crossing in front of an armoured chest, the tone of voice decidedly sardonic.” Seems to me ya majesty is having a little trouble of his own on the domestic front.”

“Don´t talk to me when there is a daisy in your beard”, the king recommended unmovedly. “Where is Bilbo?”

“Lost your hobbit, have ya?”, his friend began with an unashamed smirk. Until he recalled – “And what do _you_ know about flowers?!”

“More than you, clearly”. Blue eyes momentarily roamed the well furnished chamber. “Send someone to take care of –“ There was the barest hint of a grimace - “This.”

~ ~ ~ ~

“Hiding, Master Baggins?”

~ ~ ~ ~

“And that is quite enough of that, you know. You can keep poking me with your paw but there are no more treats about! Unless you have a fancy for apples?”

The look the squirrel favoured the hobbit with clearly signalled that it considered him a severe disappointment. Mental and otherwise.

But this opinion did not discourage the bushy animal from trying its luck again, even going so far as to climb the hobbit´s outstretched leg in the very great hope that there may be a nut or two to be found higher up on what it apparently considered to be merely a speaking tree.

Bilbo laughed, reaching down to gently stroke the small creature´s head with a finger. If it would let him. You never knew, with squirrels. Usually, they considered him harmless and useful enough but there had been that one time when he was barely out of his tweens and –

Yes, well.

Suffice to say cutting any vegetables for his stew had been an interesting matter at the time. For a time.

This exemplary of the species was of an apparently more sociable disposition. Or probably just hopeful of another treat.

Well, there weren´t any more nuts to be had and he was certainly not going to start feeding a squirrel ham. Or cheese. Or bread. Certainly not any of the strawberry cake. 

And it had nothing to do with him being a hobbit; hobbits might quite like their food but they also liked to share their food and Bilbo Baggins hoped he had proven that he was very much inclined to share his share when thirteen dwarves and a wizard had unceremoniously and unexpectedly descended upon his hobbit hole, a little more than a year ago. Though they all had been more in favour of his biscuits than any nuts that had been stored away in his pantry. Unless they had been used as a baking ingredient. In one such case a certain dwarf king had been extremely possessive of a certain pie. Immediately declaring the still warm item _his_ and absolutely refusing to let anyone else touch it. Not even his kin. His own nephews. No matter how many puppy eyes had been directed at him. 

Especially not then.

Childish dwarf that the stubborn oaf of a king was.

Rude, stubborn, loveable dwarf-king.

The king his hobbit heart was firmly, irrevocably set on and who had convinced him, in his own inimitable Thorin-ish way (which had involved a little glowering and some glaring and quite a bit of rudeness and a whole lot of high-handedness – addressing a letter to the Thain in the Shire! Really.), to make Erebor his home. Which decision had come surprisingly easy to the hobbit. He was a changed hobbit after his adventure, he had his dwarven family, his dearest friends and he had -

Thorin.

He, Bilbo Baggins, hobbit of the Shire, had entered into a courtship with Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the Mountain. 

Of sorts.

He supposed.

They had not exchanged any words, as such.

But lately, there had been glances.

And touches.

And – and then -

Kisses.

Tentative, questioning kisses. 

At first.

Followed by sweet kisses.

And then increasingly urgent, demanding kisses.

And there had been rather more of the touching.

The tips of the hobbit´s ears turned bright red at the reminder of their latest impromptu meeting near one of the alcoves on a higher level in the mountain.

Yes, well.

He was not ashamed of loving Thorin. 

Because he did.

Love Thorin.

For a while, it had been a painful sort of love. With the gold-sickness and the banishment and the battle and the fear that the dwarf would succumb to his many injuries.

Of course the odiously stubborn dwarf had recovered from his wounds and his eyes had sent such a message of regret and pleading to the hobbit when falling on him upon his waking in the tent that Bilbo, hurt and angry as he was, had almost instantly forgiven the stupid creature. 

Thorin had bowed his head over the hobbit´s hand, tear streaks on both his pale, hollow cheeks.

Yes, he may have forgiven the dwarf rather too quickly, considering - things, perhaps, but with all the hurt and the pain and the anger and the doubt and the fear in his heart, there had been even more love and that love was what had, ultimately, made the decision for the hobbit. 

And Thorin had, in true dwarven fashion, taken to making his misdeeds up to his hobbit as soon as he had been allowed to leave his sickbed and properly reclaim his throne. His home.

Bilbo supposed he would eventually need to buy a small house in rebuilt Dale just so that he would have somewhere to store the many gifts the dwarf had seen fit to bestow on him.

It had taken the hobbit quite a lot of requesting and coaxing and soothing of wounded dwarven pride and hurt feelings (who knew Thorin was quite practised at the whole Durin puppy-eyes thing, too!) and eventual stomping of his foot for the flow to somewhat subside. 

And the impossible dwarf still tried to sneak a gift or other in when the hobbit wasn´t looking.

Thorin was very lucky that Bilbo loved him.

Or he would have long been murdered.

By hobbit hands.

In his bed.

Probably.

Possibly.

Preferably.

Where the hobbit would quite like to find himself at some point soon, if that could be arranged.

Yes, well.

He may have been a respectable, proper hobbit for a great many years of his life but being left to the mercy of a rowdy bunch of dwarves and then practically moving into their mountain and being exposed to even more of their race had had quite sad, unhappy, irrevocable effects on his respectability, thank you very much.

But it was not his dwarf´s _bed_ the hobbit currently found himself in (though he might have taken steps to at least further that possibility, very... recently) but something that could almost qualify as a balcony, if looked at it with a very open, generous, disinterested mind. 

Not that his little discovery came with any of the usual adornments – no bench, no chair, no table, no cushions, no pots, no plants, no flowers – but it had one very great advantage and that was that there was - 

Sunshine.

And since hobbits were creatures who had a passion for all things sunshine and warmth and blue skies that was why Bilbo Baggins was half sitting, half leaning against a stone wall on a stone balcony-ish conception, soaking up as many of the lovely rays as he could while enjoying what could qualify as a small picnic. He had brought a blanket. 

And acquired a squirrel.

He had no idea how the fluffy, demanding little thing had even made it up to his spot of retreat but didn´t really mind the company. Although he would have much preferred the company of -

~ ~ ~ ~

Bilbo opened one eye to peek up at the newcomer, then promptly shut it again.

“You are blocking the sun, Thorin.”

If he had opened both his eyes, or even just that one eye again, he would have been presented with that rare sight of the King under the Mountain smiling. That crinkling, warm smile of his that never failed to make the hobbit´s heart flutter and to make him think that Middle Earth was a brighter place just because of Thorin Oakenshield´s smiles.

Instead, he was treated to - 

“Your nose is turning red.”

The hobbit rolled his eyes, inwardly, and then stretched a little.

“Your majesty is very complimentary today.”

“I did not say I disappro- _what_ is _that_?”

A long, thick finger was pointing at the red-tailed animal that had moved on to the hobbit´s knee, from which it studied the king with interest.

(You never knew where nuts might come from, after all.)

“It´s a squirrel, Thorin.”

The king scowled.

“I see that. _What_ is a squirrel doing on your _knee_?” 

“Looking at you?”

Thorin narrowed his eyes at the frivolous hobbit.

“Bilbo.”

“Yes?”

Who apparently had no intention of taking pity on a king. 

Impertinent, pert, cheeky creature that he was. He would have to - 

“You might wish to withdraw your finger, Thorin.”

“ _What_?”

“Your finger. The one you´re currently using to point at a _live squirrel_. Which appears to have a very hobbit-ish appetite. Or perhaps it thinks that you are trying to steal its prize?” The smiling hobbit reached out to close the bemused dwarf´s hand into a fist. 

(Which upset the squirrel that had still been perched on his knee. It hopped back down onto the stone ground, paused to give both hobbit and dwarf a look that clearly said it would not be tolerating any more of any relapse into dwarfling- or hobbitling-hood (it seemed to especially fix its eyes on the king) if it was not going to be held upright by a flow of nutty treats and then quickly danced off to find a new benefactor.)

“There.” Bilbo briefly let his thumb stroke a calloused knuckle. Before his brows rose in mock consternation. “Except now you´ve scared off the poor squirrel!”

Thorin produced a wonderful impression of a fish. 

“ _You_ \- !” 

The hobbit was then favoured with a dark kingly glower. 

Which turned into a dark kingly smoulder.

Oh.

“Oh no! No, no, no! Not -”

~ ~ ~ ~

Thorin smirked.

It was the hobbit´s own fault.

Teasing him.

Laughing at him.

Letting a _squirrel_ sit on his knee.

_Thorin_ should be the one sitting on his knee.

Knees.

Lap.

The hobbit – Bilbo – should be in _his_ lap.

And was currently attempting to move away from him.

To put a _respectable_ distance between them.

He was adorable. His hobbit.

All proper and respectable and polite and well-mannered and ever the diplomat when in public -

And passion and noises and teasing and demands and hunger and _love_ when they were alone.

Well, they practically were alone. Even if there was a chance of detection.

It was the hobbit´s own fault for letting the sun turn his hair almost golden ( _this_ was all the gold, all the treasure he needed. _This_ was his heart.), for making his eyes shine in appreciation of its warm glow, for being so _damn_ irresistible that - 

But he had put them into his chamber.

His bedchamber.

And then left for him to find them.

After a long session with his Council. 

And an elven delegation.

He was going to have to punish him.

~ ~ ~ ~

“ _No_ , Thorin! You -”

One elegant, insufferably majestic brow rose.

“You prefer the attentions of a squirrel?”

Bilbo gaped. Then he folded his arms, eyeing his suitor crossly.

“Well, it was a lot less trouble than you. Your majesty.”

That verdict did not seem to overly trouble His Majesty as a hand attached to His Majesty´s form placed itself on the hobbit´s hip. And pulled. Lightly. If steadily.

“As you say, my hobbit.” 

Now _really_ \- 

“Oh, stop it, you big oaf!” The large, calloused appendage was swatted at. Anyone might come upon them. Or at least a guard. Or Dori. And _had_ that not been embarrassing! “ _Thorin_! I mean it! If you won´t stop being silly I will -” Seriously? That eyebrow again? And that un _holy_ \- right.

Well, the dwarf had asked for it.

So.

The hobbit quickly reached into his pocket and - 

There.

Oh, but that look was really quite sweet.

In an aggravated, Thorin-ish way.

Quite.

Good.

~ ~ ~ ~

There was a flower in his hair.

Bilbo had put a flower into his hair.

Bilbo – his hobbit, his _burglar_ \- 

Had put a flower into his hair.

It was pink.

The dwarf made a small, wounded noise in the back of his throat.

“Why would you hate me so?

Bilbo merely smiled brightly in return. Very brightly. He quite enjoyed this side of the usually stoic king. Besides -

“Well, it´s rather the reverse, your majesty, isn´t it?”

That made the dwarf frown.

“You put a flower in my hair.”

“I did.”

The frown deepened.

“It´s pink.”

Uhm- 

“Yes?”

It was most fitting, actually. Silly dwarf. He should -

“Take it out.”

The hobbit froze.

“Take it – you wish me to take it _out_?”

Arms were crossed.

“Yes.”

Right.

Well.

That was - 

Quite clear, really.

Actually.

So - 

That´s what it was, then.

He had been really stupid to think - 

And he most certainly was _not_ going to -

The hobbit blinked furious tears away, resolutely willingly himself to not let the dwarf see his - 

An arm shot out.

“Bilbo?”

Oh, now he was _concerned_ , wasn´t he?! Well, the stupid dwarf could take his concern and - 

“You are upset.”

Of course he was _upset_! How would he _not_ be -

“Well of _course_ I am upset! You stupid dwarf, could you not have told me _before_ -” The hobbit reigned himself in with supreme effort. Thorin had not made him any promises, after all. He had just - 

The hobbit´s shoulders slumped.

“Look, Thorin”, he continued in a calmer voice, if a little hollowly. “It was all just a misunderstanding. Clearly. Apparently I read too much into your – even though I _do_ think you should have told me that you had no serious intentions when you first approached me but let´s just not talk about it now. Please. In fact, I´ll just take my leave now and -”

“I – Bilbo – _wait_!”

~ ~ ~ ~

Thorin was horribly, increasingly confused.

What in the name of Durin was the hobbit talking about?

As if the flower had not been enough.

And it was pink.

The king grimaced in recollected disgust.

Flowers.

_Hobbits_.

He inwardly rolled his eyes.

But then - 

Hobbits.

Flowers.

_Mahal._

~ ~ ~ ~

“Let go, Thorin.”

The grip on the hobbit´s arm tightened, blue eyes blazing as they fixed themselves on the smaller being.

“I will not let you run away from me! Not when -”

“Yes you _will_!”, the hobbit huffed, attempting to detach his arm from the firm hold. “ _You_ have made it perfectly clear that you are not planning on keeping me around so you will excuse me, Mister King under the Mountain, if I take my leave of you. So I – I - _excuse_ me!”

“ _I accept._ ”

~ ~ ~ ~

The hobbit was rapidly brought back to focus, his mouth slightly open as he stared up at the king.

Right.

What?

Uhm -

“You - _accept_. What, precisely, are you _accepting_?”

Thorin did not mistake the wary note in his hobbit´s voice. To think that Bilbo - He could scold his little love for doubting his - their - love later.

“Your proposal. Offer. Of courtship. And eventual marriage.”

Bilbo´s brows drew together in adorable confusion.

“But you just said no.”

The king sighed, reaching up to gently cup a heated cheek.

“I will be happy to wear your flower. Or any flower you should choose to gift me with.”

“Oh. That´s – good. That is - _Wait!_ ” The hobbit firmly pushed at the king´s chest. “You just told me to take it _out_ of your stupid hair and now you want it back? Really, could you just make up your bloody _mind_ , you, you - _dwarf_ , you! I´ll turn grey before I even reach my next birthday at this rate!” He glared. Fiercely. “Either you want to court me or you do _not_ want to court me. Either way – I´d really like to know. Your majesty. No matter whether I lean towards the former myself or – _umph_ -”

“Peace, beloved”, the king ordered, having placed a hand strategically – which the hobbit was consequently, and quite unrespectably, very much tempted to - remove. “I had merely forgotten about your strange hobbit customs when I asked you to remove it. And I was under the impression we had already been courting.” That stupid brow rose again. “Or is it another hobbit idiosyncrasy to steal a king´s heart, to accost him in half-hidden alcoves and to drag him into bed chambers to shamelessly plunder his -”

It was the dwarf king´s turn to take to silence.

Once he had got over the shock of having his palm nibbled at. Hard.

~ ~ ~ ~

Some many, delicious minutes later Bilbo Baggins could be seen playing with a silken strand the pinkish piece of botany had become entangled in during their rather interesting – exploration; shamelessly tugging at it.

“You can choose another. Surely one of the ones in your chambers will be less offensive to your kingly sensibilities.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes at this tribute.

„Why was I inflicted with them?“

Bilbo spluttered. „Inflic -!“ If _you_ , Thorin Oakenshield, had not gone about this courtship in an entirely stupid, completely _odious_ dwarvenish way; _I_ would not have had to resort to more drastic measures just so as to give you a hint, thank you! But fine -” Hairy feet made to hurriedly return into the dark confines of the mountain - “If your majesty does not care for them, I will find someone who does. _Nori_ was very appreciative of them!”

~ ~ ~ ~

Thorin blinked.

“Nori.”

“Yes. Now come along. Eru knows what Dwalin has done to my poor bouquets by now! Or do I even want to know?”

Thorin blinked again. 

“Nori. You made _Nori_ help you.” 

The dwarf seemed to have some difficulty as far as wrapping his much afflicted mind around the issue was concerned, even as he stomped down the hall at his hobbit´s hurrying side. 

Really, what was there to be so flabbergasted about? Someone _had_ to help him carry all those vases _and_ sneak them into the king´s chambers while no-one was looking, preferably. And Nori had stole up on them when he had discussed hobbit customs and practises with the dwarf´s young scribe brother in Erebor´s restored library and had seem strangely interested in the topic of flowers.

Bilbo had not hesitated in engaging the spy master´s services for his own very personal and very private business, thank you very much. And had generously turned a very blind eye when the peak-haired dwarf had picked a daisy from one of the scented, cheerful offerings and had let it slip into one of his many – most of them hidden - pockets. No matter which poor soul the dwarf should have been planing to torment with it. Although he had had a very fair idea.

Poor Dwalin.

~ ~ ~ ~

“How else did you think they got into your bedroom? I only have two hands, you know. Yes, and -”, the hobbit continued while purposefully marching through the massive stone door that led into the king´s personal chambers, which the dwarf – in very likely an attempt at pacifying him, the _stupid_ \- ! - held open for him “- don´t think I am not very, _very_ cross with you! Honestly, Thorin, a little more appreciation of - _Dwalin!_ ”

~ ~ ~ ~

“Yes, I appreciate that, but you _cannot_ murder Nori!”

“Says who?”

“ _Dwalin_.”

The tattooed warrior grunted, reluctantly removing his hand from where it had curled itself around a slender throat.

“ _He_ said to see to them”, the dwarf then offered stubbornly, crossing his thick arms and entirely unapologetic in the face of his approach to the - problem.

Reproachful hobbit eyes travelled up to the face of the third dwarf in the room.

Who instantly decided to follow in his captain´s wake, the expression even more obstinate as another set of arms folded themselves before a rock-hard chest.

“They make him sneeze.”

“Wha - You _traitor!_!”

The king merely smirked. 

“Don´t they?”

“Just tha _orchids_!”, Dwalin expostulated, a red stain on both his bearded cheeks. “And that´s not excusing that _damn_ thief _jumpin´_ on me an´ - 

“Really, Nori? You _jumped_ on him? And there is a daisy in your beard, Dwalin.”

The red-headed dwarf merely smiled brightly from the chair he had arranged himself onto (was he _really_ cleaning the dirt away from under his fingernails?! Well. How _rude_ , really!) as the increasingly exasperated hobbit´s glare fell on him, giving all the appearance of a cat that had got the cream, while the bigger dwarf froze and reached up to grab at his beard in shocked surprise.

Then made to seize the other dwarf again - 

“ _You_ -”

\- only to be stopped by the only voice of reason in the royal apartment.

And whatever Thorin had to say on _that_ subject, the fact that the king could be seen just _standing_ there, a look of unholy enjoyment on his normally either stoic or brooding face, automatically disqualified him from the quotation. Oh, he would make the dwarf sorry! His flowers and their intended disposal were just the beginning. He was such a - _dwarf_!

And so very lucky that he was _Bilbo´s_ dwarf because surely no-one else would ever dream of dealing with such inanities on a regular basis! King or not. Telling Dwalin to get rid of all those lovely flowers. Thank Yavanna there was _one_ dwarf in the mountain that had at least a semblance of taste. He would have to make some of those biscuits the middle Ri-brother was so fond of. Since he had defended his Blatantly Obvious Courting Gift so heroically. Defying his king´s orders and all that. Although whether the knives had been _really_ necessary … Dwalin, at least, had not seemed to think so. Physically. And when Nori was sufficiently supplied – and thanked – with biscuits he – Bilbo, that was. Not Nori. Although, with them being biscuits … Dwalin quite liked biscuits - Hm. Yes. Quite. Now then - 

“Dwalin!” The big dwarf looked as if he was on the brink of tears. Over being yet again interrupted in his attempt at ridding himself, the Line of Durin, all of the mountain of the plague that kept him awake at night (and the warrior would crush the head of any dwarf that should have the effrontery to imply that that might be rooted in the fact that the image of all that red hair _loose_ and unbraided kept his mind unpleasantly occupied). Bilbo would make it up to the dwarf later, he decided. And it was not _his_ doing that Dwalin _minded_ what the hobbit had to say. He had never _asked_ him to, after all. Only given him … well, looks. Maybe. And the occasional tapping of a hairy foot. Possibly. And he might have put his arms on his hips. For emphasis. Here and there. Was it _his fault_ that the big, scary, bald-headed abundance of muscle was really just a puppy at heart? No it wasn´t, thank you very much. “Please take Nori and buy him one of those nasty, headache-inducing brews you both like so much and then _talk_. Nori! No poking, no pinching, no stealing, no _teasing_! You have tortured poor Dwalin quite enough and he obviously requires a more direct approach where matters of the heart are concerned. Clearly. And don´t use _daises_ to express your interest in a courtship – and most certainly not where _you_ are involved – stop cackling, Thorin! -, choose carnations. Or tulips. Or maybe a lily-of-the-valley. And _don´t_ put any of those into any beards – really, you dwarves are really much too obsessed with your facial hair! - you make them into a crown. Or braid them into their hair. So now you know.” 

The hobbit had at last run out of breath. Almost. Very nearly. Yes, and he really quite absolutely had it up to _here_ with dwarves! Rocks in their heads. The whole lot of them. It was a wonder that any of them even managed so much as to actually _enter_ a courtship, much less end the same with an actual _marriage_.

Which brought him to the most pressing matter.

Which was - 

His very own rock-headed exemplary of the dwarven species.

Who was the very worst of the lot.

Who had not only _not_ recognised the (possibly a little excessive) gesture for The Courting Request It Had Been but had also ordered for the lovingly and carefully arranged botanic wonders to be - 

Right.

“Oh stop _gaping_ , Dwalin! Did you think nobody noticed all your _flirting_? _Thorin_ – if I have to tell you one more time to stop – Oh, thank you, Nori!” The dwarf was rapidly becoming the hobbit´s favourite. And it was sweet, really, how the big warrior dwarf did not even put up any proper resistance when being pushed out into the hall! He would have to save some of the biscuits for Dwalin, too. Seeing the poor dwarf really seemed to be in quite a state of shock.

Now - 

What - 

_Thorin!_

~ ~ ~ ~

Bilbo eyed his dwarf with acute loathing.

And he wasn´t at all impressed with the king´s unexpected flower-crafting expertise. Nor with the quickness in which the same had created the flowery piece of art. Behind his back. While the hobbit had not been looking. While the hobbit had been scolding those - 

Small arms crossed.

“ _I_ am courting _you_ , you know.”

The king appeared supremely unimpressed with the communication as he arranged the crown of colourful flowers on the hobbit´s head to his satisfaction.

“I courted you first.”

“No you _didn´t_ , Thorin Oakenshield”, the incensed hobbit huffed. “You did not even _recognise_ the – _umph_ -”

~ ~ ~ ~

Well, Bilbo supposed it was a start.

At making up for his own stupidity.

His _dwarf´s_ own stupidity.

And they were near the bed this time.

Which, on the whole, was a great improvement.

And on the morning, he would braid some flowers into the silken mane.

And the dwarf would like it.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I still do not own any of these characters and borrow them for my private fictional purposes only.


End file.
